


Moth to the Flame

by hannibae



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Begging, Bottom Will, Dirty Talk, Felching, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, mentions of somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6392215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibae/pseuds/hannibae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will breathes out a laugh, arching his back in surprise when Hannibal presses the dry pad of a finger over his hole. “Nah,” he lets out, shaky and unsure, “I’ve been high before, but I’ve never—God, everything you do is perfect, isn’t it? Are you bad at anything?”</p>
<p> It all feels too nice, Hannibal’s body solid and perfect against his own, his hands squeezing and kneading his flesh, his hips working up against Will’s own. It’s exactly how it shouldn’t be with Hannibal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moth to the Flame

They spend a lot of time curled on the couch together, at first.

After Hannibal fumbles with keys Will watched him dig out of the ground, wincing every time he twitched the wrong way, they collapse there. It’s big and leather and quite possibly the most comfortable thing Will has ever sat on.

They clean the blood they smear all over it two days later, after Hannibal has walked Will through stitching them both up. The smell of copper lingers, but Will can’t really tell if it’s just going to be the underlining smell of everything from now on or not.

And for the next three weeks, they stay on that couch. Close and warm and holding onto each other while they shudder and sweat through fevers and infections and wait for their stitches to heal, that couch becomes their safe-haven. They sleep there, eat the small meals Will manages to make for them there, talk and thrive and heal right there, sinking into the plush cushions.

Hannibal kisses him there, dry and soft and questioning. Will kisses him back in the bathroom three days later, bracing his hands on the counter after wiping Hannibal’s face free of the shaving cream still lingering from the shave Will just gave him.

The couch becomes Will’s favorite place, safe and warm and smelling like Hannibal.

They kiss a lot more, but not any differently, and Will supposes that’s to be expected.

Will heals first, and Hannibal sends him out for supplies quite often, a grocery list with uncharacteristically simple ingredients, along with clothes and little things they need for the house. He guides Will through cooking simple dishes, sitting in a kitchen chair and chopping vegetables carefully.

It’s sweet domesticity, seeping into his bones and filling the air with something simple and fresh. Everything they do is comfortable and natural, like this is how it’s meant to be, like it should have been this way since the very beginning.

Will has never felt more like himself, more comfortable in his own skin.

Sometimes, Will comes back with things Hannibal doesn’t ask for: Oreos and ice cream and things Will never thought he’d see Hannibal eating, much less sneaking seconds or thirds of. They gain weight together, indulging on sweets and balancing them with healthier foods that will keep their energy up while they heal. He hates the gaunt look of Hannibal’s face, but he starts gaining color again a couple weeks into their healing. Will makes sure to keep him fed and comfortable so the pink stays in his cheeks and he doesn’t have to worry like that ever again.

He surprises Hannibal with movies and books and simple little things to make him smile, not even thinking twice about buying them. It’s Hannibal’s money, technically, but Will feels good being able to do these little things for him.

Today, he doesn’t really know how Hannibal is going to react.

_____

When he gets home, Hannibal is wrapped up in the electric blanket they found tucked in the closet when they got here. He’s reading quietly, cup of tea still steaming on the side table.

“I couldn’t find that weird spice you wanted me to get,” Will says as his greeting. Hannibal doesn’t look up, but shrugs his shoulders slightly. “I looked, too, so don’t give me the speech. But I did get something else for tonight.”

“No speech was prepared, I assure you,” Hannibal tells him, a smile in his voice. He doesn’t question Will’s other purchase, having become accustomed to the surprises, announced or not.

Will passes by, drops a kiss on his forehead, and carries the heavy paper bag into the kitchen. He’s got a smaller, velvet bag tucked into his pocket. Hannibal had to have smelled what he had with him, and the question sits heavy between them, unvoiced but there. “Want to come help with dinner?” he calls out, pulling the bag out of his pocket and placing it on the table while he unloads the vegetables.

They cook together, the bag moved to the living room while Hannibal sets the table, and Will can’t help but smile.

As they’re eating, Hannibal brings it up. “May I ask where you purchased tonight’s surprise?”

Will grins, wipes at his mouth with his napkin before speaking. “The boy at the produce stand.”

Hannibal raises eyebrows at him, slightly displeased, but nods slowly, takes another bite of food. He says, “My first guess would have been the girl at the bakery, personally.”

“She’s just slow, not high,” Will says, not rudely, but truthfully. “Tired, or troubled, I can’t quite figure it out. But Jan offered it to me when I told him I was feeding my husband who was on bed rest from a fall he had taken while at work.”

Hannibal chuckles, just for a second. He tells Will, “It smells fairly nice,” with a nod.

“Have you ever—“ and he trails off, waving his hand in a vague gesture to finish his thought.

Eating more slowly, Hannibal thinks about his answer.

“College,” he starts, “was a very intriguing time for me. I spent a lot of time with a friend of mine experimenting with my fair share of both pleasant and unpleasant substances. It’s how I learned what to mix to torture Mason Verger.”

 “So you’ve smoked pot?” Will asks, just for a clear answer, in case he read this entirely wrong.

Hannibal nods curtly, a small smile on his lips. “Finish your food, Will.”

_____

They shower together, slippery and soft, Hannibal washing Will’s hair while he sucks little marks into Hannibal’s chest that he’ll trace with the tips of his fingers later.

Then Will shows Hannibal what he’s bought.

“This,” Will explains, holding a thin, clear pipe about the size of a cigarette, “I bought from that store down the corner from the market. The one with the naked girl on the sign.”

“It’s a pipe, yes?” Hannibal asks, taking it from him with steady fingers. Will is never going to un-see this, never not going to have this memory, and it’s a sweet one right on the tip of his tongue. Getting Hannibal out of his element is always tangy, thick and sticky on the roof of Will’s mouth. He’s excited to see how this goes.

“Right,” Will agrees, letting him inspect it. “We just pack it right here,” and he puts his finger over the opening at the front. “And then we light it like a cigarette, inhaling from the other side.”

“Simple and efficient,” Hannibal says with a smile. He hands it back to Will, who puts it on the coffee table as he pulls everything else out of his little velvet bag.

He can feel Hannibal watching him as he works quickly, pulling the weed out of its little baggy and picking it apart with his fingers. It takes him a little while to get it all ground, pick all the stems out, but Hannibal remains quiet, only asking how long it’s been since Will’s done this.

“Molly and I did it a couple of times, right in the beginning. But other than that, it’s been since college. Can’t smoke pot and work for the F.B.I.,” he laughs, getting the weed packed into the pipe.

He uses the corner of the lighter to make sure it’s all in there, and then holds both of them out for Hannibal. “You first,” he says.

“Light it for me,” Hannibal requests, putting the end of the pipe in his mouth. When Will’s hand comes up, Hannibal wraps his fingers around his wrist, cocks his head, and inhales.

Will watches in a bit of awe, mouth slightly open, as Hannibal holds the smoke in his lungs for a series of seconds, tilting his chin up and exhaling so he doesn’t blow it right in Will’s face. He doesn’t cough, and Will warns him that he’s not going to be that smooth about it.

Hannibal smiles, and extends Will the same courtesy of manning the lighter for him. As soon as the smoke hits his lungs, he coughs. Not harshly, but enough that he’s embarrassed about it.

He faces the other way to exhale, and Hannibal is already pulling the pipe out of his fingers, lighting it himself this time.

He pulls Will over to him, hand coming up to cup his jaw, and Will knows what to do from here.

Their lips meet, and Will opens his to let in the smoke Hannibal exhales, passes it back to him after a breath, until all he tastes is the acrid smoke, and _Hannibal_. He kisses him deep, tongue licking at Will’s palate, hand moving to come around his throat, thumb right under this chin, holding him in place. It’s so nice like this, warm and comfortable and slick. Everything feels soft, muted under the smoke lingering hazily around them.

Will’s hard already, has been since he watched Hannibal take the first hit, but he doesn’t push the subject. When Hannibal pulls away, it’s to tuck the pipe between Will’s lips and encourage him to go again.

They pass it like that for a while, letting it seep into their bones, and Hannibal repacks it for them, hands steady and sure, mimicking exactly what Will had done before.

They smoke almost all of it. Passing the pipe back and forth, and Will looks over to see Hannibal sitting with his legs spread, cock hard in his pants while he takes another long hit, throat working through the motions. He bites down a groan, scrubs a hand over his face and lets out a breathy laugh.

“Come,” Hannibal tells him, tilting his head, eyes heavy, mouth turned up in a grin. He leans over to put the pipe and lighter on the coffee table, scoots over towards the center of the couch while Will stands on unsteady legs. He feels otherworldly, like he’s looking down on himself in this moment, watching himself straddle Hannibal’s thighs with a whine.

“Perfect,” he’s told, “Absolutely divine.” He lets Hannibal pull his t-shirt over his head, hands coming to paw at his overheated skin.

“ _God_ ,” he murmurs, the feeling of Hannibal touching him already so much.

They haven’t done this yet, both of them wary of Hannibal’s injuries, but Will is absolutely screaming for it at this point, body arching into Hannibal’s touch. “You’re gorgeous, you know,” Hannibal mumbles into his skin, fingers digging into Will’s hips.

The sweatpants he’s wearing have slipped down, only barely covering him by now, and Hannibal slips his hand down the back of them, palming the fleshy part of Will’s ass while he leans forward and slots their mouths together.

This kiss is heated, wet and lighting Will from the inside out. Hannibal bites at his bottom lip, not paying much attention to finesse, and instead just focusing on pulling however many sounds he can out of Will, it seems. It’s the best kiss Will has ever received, makes him curl his toes and jerk his hips forward, and the chuckle that tumbles out of Hannibal’s chest makes him feel young, inexperienced.

“Why do you make me feel like I’ve never done any of this before?” he mumbles against Hannibal’s mouth, sighing when he moves down to sink his teeth into Will’s neck instead.

His hands have both found their way into the back of Will’s pants, fingers dancing around, making Will blush hotly.

“Perhaps it’s the narcotics,” Hannibal suggests, and Will had forgotten he asked a question.

Will breathes out a laugh, arching his back in surprise when Hannibal presses the dry pad of a finger over his hole. “Nah,” he lets out, shaky and unsure, “I’ve been high before, but I’ve never— _God_ , everything you do is perfect, isn’t it? Are you bad at anything?”

 It all feels too nice, Hannibal’s body solid and perfect against his own, his hands squeezing and kneading his flesh, his hips working up against Will’s own. It’s exactly how it _shouldn’t_ be with Hannibal.

Will imagined—when he allowed himself to—that doing this with Hannibal would be bloody, intense and painful, teeth and bruises and suck marks just like he used to teach his classes. He imagined he would feel angry, or anything other than the absolute bliss coursing through his veins right now, with Hannibal’s dry finger brushing over his hole.

“Sports,” Hannibal mumbles, a sloppy smile on his face. Will scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion, letting Hannibal press against him harder. “I’m lacking in athleticism. Sports have never been a strong suit for me.”

Will chuckles, leans down to bury his face into the crook of Hannibal’s neck. He takes a deep breath, shivers when Hannibal’s hands slide up from his ass, nails scratching up his back while their hips work against each other. “Hunting is a sport,” Will argues.

“I suppose you’re right,” Hannibal murmurs, turning so his mouth is almost in Will’s hair. The position is getting less and less comfortable, but Will doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want the press and slide of Hannibal’s body against his own to stop even for a second.

“You should fuck me,” Will tells him, leaning in to press their mouths back together. Hannibal grins, lets out a breathy laugh. “Slow and sweet, like how I’m feeling right now.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal asks. “I should take you here, on our couch?”

He wants to hear the words come out of Hannibal’s mouth, wants to see if they make his lips taste any different. But he doesn’t push the issue, forgets all about it when Hannibal reaches down the front of his pants and wraps long fingers around the base of Will’s aching cock. A groan tumbles out of him, and he sits up to watch. He nods his head, a delayed answer to Hannibal’s question. “Right here,” he agrees.

It already feels so good, the dry sort-of-handjob Hannibal is giving him, wringing more sounds out of him. He can’t help them, has a brief thought that he should shut up, that Hannibal can’t be finding this appealing at all, but they fall out of him in harsh pants and sighs and bitten off moans.

Hannibal is still dressed entirely, even wearing socks, and Will wants to rip it all off of him, wants to paw at his skin and see how red he can get him. He knows Hannibal’s body already, the two of them having foregone modesty at the very beginning, and he’s felt it under his hands before, but never like this. Not with the prospect of what they both want so badly hanging between them, weighing the air down and leaving a slick sheen on their skin.

“Take off your clothes,” he says, catching Hannibal’s eyes with his own, just long enough to see how dark they’ve gotten, heavy-lidded and a little pink.

“Do it for me,” he’s told, and Hannibal lets go of him, goes pliant and soft, sinking further into the couch so Will can start peeling his clothes off of him. The shirt comes off easily, plain white t-shirt that Will is fairly certain is his own getting tossed over the back of the couch. Hannibal will scold him later for that, he’s sure of it, but for now, Will is spared. He stands to take off his own sweatpants, tugs them down and leaves them where they pool.  Next come Hannibal’s, easier than he thought it would be to tug them down, his hips coming up to help with the process. “There’s lubricant in the bathroom. Bottom drawer; would you go get it?”

He finds it buried under a box of condoms, grabs one of those for good measure after thinking about it for a second. When he returns, he finds Hannibal jerking himself off slowly, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He’s not looking at Will, instead focusing on himself, other hand up on his chest, fingers scratching absentmindedly over his nipple. Will notes the way he’s panting, the way his body tenses up on the upstroke.

“Not that I’m not enjoying the view, but want some help with that?”

Hannibal looks up then, smile on his face, lip still caught between his teeth. “If you’d like,” he says, but doesn’t stop. “Or, I could fuck you. Just like you asked.”

Will has to stop the moan building up in his chest.  He nods his head, licking his lips. “Yeah, let’s do that one instead.”

When he crawls in Hannibal’s lap this time, he presses the bottle of lube into Hannibal’s open palm, slots their mouths together out of a necessity building in his chest. Hannibal’s mouth tastes like smoke, sweet and herby when Will licks his way inside. He gets too focused on the way Hannibal’s lips feel against his own, how when he bites at the plump curve of the bottom one, Hannibal’s breath hitches in his chest—and we he checks back in, it’s only because Hannibal has managed to slick his fingers and is pressing the pad of one to Will’s hole.  He jerks back with a small gasp, hands flying up to Hannibal’s chest as though to balance himself.

The slide of inside is bizarre at first, something Will isn’t exactly used to, but isn’t entirely a stranger to either. It’s just one finger, and he rocks his hips down experimentally, squeezing his eyes shut when even just that feels like a lot. The trust he holds for Hannibal is unwavering, and he wants this more than he knows how to express, so when Hannibal just nods his head slowly, uses his free hand to spread Will’s cheeks further apart, Will just leans down and buries his face in Hannibal’s neck.

His face is hot, a blush burning down the center of his chest, especially when Hannibal twists his finger, stretching him slowly, pressing up and up, curling his finger and—

Will jerks his whole body, teeth sinking into Hannibal’s shoulder as he massages his finger over Will’s prostate, making him sob out at the feeling. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he whimpers, hips moving to get more.

“Is it there?” Hannibal asks, and Will can hear the smile in his voice. He doesn’t look up, instead sinking his teeth into the same spot as before. Hannibal doesn’t so much as flinch at the feeling. “Two now, okay?”

And he’s true to his word, pressing in with two fingers before Will can even get a sound out. He feels so full already, hole stretched around Hannibal’s thick fingers. Hannibal is gentle, coaxing little sounds out of Will’s throat when he crooks his fingers and passes over his prostate. He’s taking his time, spreading Will open and letting him adjust. He mouths at Will’s temple, pressing lazy kisses there while he works him over, pressing in deeper and deeper until Will is pliant and soft, ready for more.

A third finger slips in after a while, and Will is already sweating. So is Hannibal, for that matter, and their skin sticks uncomfortably in places. When his hips jerk, the pull of their skin is almost painful. He doesn’t mind it, likes the bite while Hannibal ignites every one of his nerve endings on fire with just his hands.

When all three of Hannibal’s fingers press just right, making him sob and shake, he moans thickly and bears down, mouth opening around a beg. “Please—you now, Hannibal, please,” he whines, mouth leaving wet patches on Hannibal’s chest as he sucks and licks, nips at his skin with his teeth. Instead, Hannibal presses inside him harder, smirk on his lips, eyes heavy as he watches Will fall apart in his lap.

Will reaches up with a shaky hand, gets his fingers in the hair on the nape of Hannibal’s neck, and pulls him down for a desperate kiss. When he pulls apart, Hannibal tells him, “You can beg better than that, my boy.”

He’s shaking now, nerves sensitive, and Hannibal is relentless, fingers still working him open, slow and sweet, and it’s taking everything in Will not to take what he wants himself. “Ask nicely, Will,” he’s told, Hannibal’s voice thick and rough in his ear.

“ _Please_ ,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper as Hannibal finds that spot again, makes him shiver and twitch with the feeling of it.

“Please what?”

God, he’s not sure how much more he can take like this, already so close, just from Hannibal’s fingers in his ass. He’s on edge, trembling with every brush against his prostate, and the words Hannibal wants to hear falling numb on his tongue. His thighs ache from the position his in, and he’s absolutely covered in sweat, leaving Hannibal damp with it, too. There’s a line on both of their stomachs from the pre-come drooling from Will’s aching cock. It matches his smile, and he groans thickly at the realization.

  _I am his design._

“I want your cock inside me,” he moans, clinging to Hannibal desperately. “ _Hannibal_ —fuck me, please.”

After an uncomfortable slick feeling, he’s empty again, Hannibal’s hand coming to rest on the other side of his ass, spreading him even wider. It’s obscene, and he can feel his embarrassment settle in the pit of his stomach. It’s gone after a moment, replaced with heat when Hannibal tells him, “Do it for me.”

His hands shake as he does what he’s told, reaching behind himself to find the thick base of Hannibal’s cock, fingers wrapping around him to guide him to his slick, stretched hole.

The stretch is enough to have him arching back against it, mouth falling open around a heavy moan. He’s so full, just a few inches in, and his whole body trembles. He can’t stop the sounds he’s making, can’t stop his hands from digging into Hannibal’s thighs. Hannibal’s cock pressing against him in all the right places, filling him up like he’s never felt before, Will gasps, puts a hand on Hannibal’s chest. “Wait, wait,” he gets out, wriggles down against him, and comes, just like that.

Hannibal lets out a shocked noise, gets his hands around Will’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, desperation leaking through as Will trembles and moans, slumps against Hannibal as his chest heaves.

“I didn’t think it was possible for me to hunger for you any more than I already do, Will,” Hannibal starts, hips rocking up on their own accord. “But I didn’t even touch you just then, and you reached orgasm, just from my cock inside of you?”

He just barely manages to nod his head.

Will writhes against him, a whine escaping his throat when Hannibal starts fucking into him in earnest. He can feel Hannibal’s thighs flexing against his own, can feel every move of every single one of Hannibal’s muscles as he fucks Will. His cock feels huge now that he’s so oversensitive, and he feels like he’s being split in two in the best way possible.

“God, you feel incredible,” he slurs, mouthing at Hannibal’s collarbone. “Want you to fuck me all the time now, Hannibal.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Hannibal gasps, hips snapping up as his whole body tenses. “Please, keep talking.”

Hannibal’s hands find his hips, fingers digging in as his thrusts get deeper, harder, and Will gasps at the feeling. “I want to wake up next to you already fucking me,” Will tells him. “Get me open and slick for you while I’m sleeping. God, you can even drug me if you want, but I want to wake up to the feeling of your cock filling me up.”

“Will—,” Hannibal cuts himself off, bites into Will’s shoulder as his breathing gets harsher.

“ _Fuck_ —next time, I want to suck you off. Maybe later tonight. Learn how to take you all the way down, but that’ll take a while. You’re so _big_ , Hannibal. I can feel you everywhere.”

That does it, and Hannibal lets out a sob, head falling against the back of the couch, body shaking as he comes. He holds Will down, wraps his arms around him and buries his face in the sweaty crook of his neck. They catch their breath together, Will feeling Hannibal’s cock softening inside him.

It’s not long before it becomes uncomfortable now that the adrenaline is gone, and Hannibal helps Will up. He hasn’t felt this good in years, loose and comfortable, muscles burning like he just ran a mile. There’s come dripping down his leg, and he tries to tell Hannibal as much, but he just pulls Will down next to him.

In seconds, Hannibal is on his knees in front of Will, hands coming to his thighs to spread him once more, and Will’s face heats up as the realization of what Hannibal is planning sinks in. “Hannibal, what—“

The first press of his tongue is almost too much, wet and warm, a jolt to his system. His hand comes up almost absentmindedly to wrap around Will’s half-hard cock. It’s almost too much, bordering on the edge of painful, but he’s hard again in seconds, writhing and moaning while Hannibal fucks into him with his tongue.

He covers his face with his hands, tries not to listen to the obscene sounds, and it doesn’t take much more for him to be coming a second time that night, shaking apart while Hannibal jerks him off slowly, tongue still licking him clean.

“Don’t you even think about kissing me before you brush your teeth,” is the first thing Will says, and Hannibal smiles.

“Why not? You taste divine.”

He brushes them anyway, and while he does, Will cleans the couch. He doesn’t bother putting the weed away, instead waiting for Hannibal to come back, plans on asking him if he wants more.

He has a feeling Hannibal is going to be making his own trips to the produce stand from now on.


End file.
